


American Victory Commission - ASSEMBLE

by glorious_clio



Category: The Thrilling Adventure Hour
Genre: Gen, also staring all of your favorite Aviatrixes!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-19
Updated: 2017-08-19
Packaged: 2018-12-17 07:19:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,019
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11846673
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/glorious_clio/pseuds/glorious_clio
Summary: NEWS ON PARADE! A dark shadow has fallen across the United States, and her people have resisted the best that they can. But after Nazis took to the street in Charlottesville, Virginia, America, Sharon Adams calls America's Number One Hero out of a relaxing retirement!Set your dial for Patriotism in tonight's radio production of AMELIA EARHART, FEARLESS FLYER, brought to you by Work Juice Coffee and its newest subsidiary, Boston Liber-Tea!





	American Victory Commission - ASSEMBLE

**Author's Note:**

> I got mad. This was the result - I hope you enjoy it! 
> 
> Thanks as ever to lalalalalawhy, who gave me such wonderful feedback when I called her into the Adventurekateer Clubhouse.

_NEWS ON PARADE  
_ _DATELINE - THE WILD BLUE YONDER  
_ _THE QUESTIONS ON EVERYONE’S LIPS:  
_ _“WHATEVER HAPPENED TO AMELIA EARHART?”  
_ _THE ANSWER IN NOBODY’S EARS:  
_ _IN 1945, THE AMERICAN VICTORY COMMISSION WAS DISBANDED AFTER THE ALLIED VICTORY, AND THE COVERT DIVISION OF THEIR TOP SECRET ONE WOMAN AIR FORCE WENT INTO RETIREMENT._  
_AMERICA’S SOARING SWEETHEART AMELIA EARHART, THE FEARLESS FLYER, IN HER LOCKHEED ELECTRA FOUND AN ISLAND PARADISE OUTSIDE OF TIME. NOW, A SHADOW HAS FALLEN OVER HER BELOVED HOMELAND, AND AN AGELESS WARRIOR IS CALLED HOME TO LIGHT THE LIGHT OF FREEDOM IN THE NAME OF TRUTH, LIBERTY, AND THE AMERICAN WAY...._

 

The static crackled through the ancient transmitter.

“Come in, come in, this is Lady Liberty calling Fearless Flyer, come in, Fearless Flyer, urgent response needed.”

As she waited for a reply (hopefully from Fearless), she looked around the room. The old headquarters were filthy, covered in dust and full of classified papers that had never been processed and declassified, or even moved. The secret bunker under the Liberty Bell was probably more secure than even the vaults behind Mount Rushmore. Because no one knew about it. No one, that is, except for her.

Grandma Abby was gone now, but, before she left, she had entrusted Sharon Adams with some of her secrets. Mainly, the truth of Amelia Earhart, and how to contact her.

 

_“Grandma, you can stop fighting the war.”_

_“Never trust those Krauts, Sharon. They’re never gone long enough for a week in a tropical paradise.”_

 

Sharon Adams was going to need a million showers after she left the bunker. Of course, with all that was happening, she’d felt like she needed a million showers a day recently.

The radio crackled to life, and her heart leapt as she heard a response. She pressed the headset closer to her ears, trying to decipher the words from the static and whine from the set.

“You’ll have to repeat that, this line is restricted. I’m trying to contact The Fearless Flyer, come in, Fearless Flyer, this is Lady Liberty.”

  


 

The static crackled through the ancient transmitter. At first Amelia hadn’t believed it, but then, an urgent voice called out, “ _Come in, come in, this is Lady Liberty calling Fearless Flyer, come in, Fearless Flyer, urgent response needed_.”

Amelia shook her hair out of her eyes. It had been so long since anyone had called for aid, so long since Abby had needed her. Amelia didn’t even know her radio still worked. The salt and humidity on her tropical island decayed even the best electronics Uncle Sam could provide. But she might have known the time pocket wouldn’t destroy her radio. After all, the Lockheed Electra still worked. Even though her emergency radio was older than Old Glory, she could still hear that this Lady Liberty sounded a little different than the one she loved. And yet there was something familiar about the cadence, the way she said “Fearless Flyer.”

Amelia Earhart put down her halved coconut that she was drinking out of and squared her shoulders. If this was a plot, she’d take care of it, and if it was a genuine call, well, she’d take care of that too.

She went to the radio, pressed the headset to her ear, and pressed down on the microphone. “This is the Fearless Flyer, come in, Lady Liberty!”

“You’ll have to repeat that, this line is restricted. I’m trying to contact The Fearless Flyer, come in, Fearless Flyer, this is Lady Liberty.”

“This is the Fearless Flyer! Is that you, Abby?”

“Negative, Fearless, this is Sharon Adams. Abby was my grandmother. Forgive me for using her call sign, but she told me in an emergency I should contact you.”

“Grandmother?! Wowee, has it been that long? Did she turn into one of those grandmas that always has milk, cookies, and warm hugs?”

“I’m afraid not, Fearless, more like the prickly kind that teaches you how to land a punch, break a code, and fix a radio.”

Amelia could hear the smile in Sharon’s voice. It matched her own.

“But let’s not get caught reminiscing,” Sharon said, her voice taking on a familiar authority. “We need you, Fearless Flyer. The filthy _krauts_ are back, marching through American Streets. We need to reassemble the American Victory Commission, and you’re still the best flyer we’ve got.”

She said _Kraut_ like it was her inheritance.

“On whose authority?”

“My own,” Sharon admitted. “It’s worse than Nazis in the street, Fearless. They’re in the White House.”

“Oh my stars and stripes,” Amelia breathed. “I’m gonna need help.”

“You’re the first person I’ve called, but I can get you backup. Who should I radio next?”

“How about Rabbit’s Foot?”

“You’re not gonna believe this, Fearless Flyer, but he turned out to be a _Kraut_ sympathizer with more than one secret German family. There’s no one else, Amelia. We _need_ you.”

“Right, then,” Amelia said, some of her old bravado coming back. “Don’t worry about backup, I know just who to call on. Send the coordinates to the Lockheed -- I’m on my way.”

 

 

Sharon didn’t quite know what to expect as she sat hugging her knees at the edge of the runway. Her grandparents had bought this farm (no pun intended) in rural Pennsylvania and the whole family worked to keep this field clear.

She heard the buzz of the planes before she saw them -- the cloud cover was heavy and she couldn’t see the stars, but the flash of the red Lockheed filled her with hope. She scrambled to her feet as Amelia Earhart touched down, followed by one, two, three.... There were nine planes in all, and Sharon watched as the pilots, all women, checked their planes, and removed helmets, goggles, and scarves. Satisfied, they fluffed their hair and approached Sharon.  

She recognized Amelia immediately, how could she not? She was one of the most famous pilots ever! (And her grandmother kept a framed photo of her on the mantle in the farmhouse, no doubt Amelia would be pleased to see.)

“Sharon?” Amelia asked.

“Yes, nice to finally meet you, Fearless.”

She grinned at that. “You can call me Amelia if you want. These are my gal pals. They all hate Nazis too.”

“The more the merrier.” Sharon smiled at the group.  

“Name’s Katherine Sui Fun Cheung,” said the first pilot to Amelia’s left. Her swagger was even stronger than Amerlia’s. “Just point me at the Nazis, kid.”

“Beryl Markham,” said a striking woman with a curious accent.

“I’m Bessie Coleman,” said the African-American woman standing next to her with a smile. “Glad to be of service.”

Another woman thrust her hand at Sharon. “Hélène Dutrieu, but you can call me the Human Arrow,” she said in a heavy Belgian accent.

“Not all of us have good nicknames,” said another woman with a laugh. “I’m Ruth Nichols.”

They went on down the line, the pilots jostling each other as they moved up to shake Sharon’s hand.

"I’m Elinor Smith, and just let me at ‘em!” She was a slender white woman who looked very young with her hair curled around her face, her eyes bright.

“Amy Johnson, and there’s nothing I hate more than a bleedin’ Nazi,” said a woman with an English accent. She saluted Sharon formally.

“Maryse Hilsz,” said the last woman with a French accent. “I know a thing or two about resistance,” she said gravely.

“Perfect,” said Sharon. “Ladies, if you’ll follow me to the farmhouse.”

The fire was blazing in the hearth, all accepted deep mugs of Work Juice coffee (or in the case of Amy and Beryl, a cup of Boston’s finest Liber-Tea). Sharon helpfully offered some whiskey (distilled by herself, the recipe handed down from a perpetually drunk aunt and uncle), which a few of the women helped themselves to.

“So what the damn hell happened, Sharon?” Amelia asked, sprawled in front of the fireplace, warming her bones after a long flight in an open cockpit. She had noticed her photograph on the mantle upon entering the room, and had blown a kiss at it. The others were tucked into comfortable couches or in chairs, covered in blankets, cuping hot mugs to warm stiff fingers.

“Well....”

 

 

It was the early hours of the morning before Sharon was through the whole story. The nine women in front of her were stunned, shocked, reeling. The bottle of whiskey was gone.

“So that brings us up to last Saturday, Charlottesville. Since then, one Nazi has been fired from the Administration, but. It’s clearly not enough,” Sharon concluded.

“I should say not!” Maryse jumped up and started pacing. “How well-fixed is your resistance?”

“We’re trying, and we’re winning some things, but it feels like we’re holding the line. It’s a struggle -- why do you think I called Amelia?” Sharon said ruefully.

Amy pushed off her blanket in frustration. “Well, we beat them before and we’ll beat them again.”

“Nasty Huns just can’t learn a lesson, can they?” Hélène added shaking her head.

“And the Klan! You think they’d shut up any time now,” Bessie said. "Ignorant bastards."

“Well, we’re gonna have to be smart about this, break up in teams of twos and threes,” Amelia said.

Sharon pulled out a map of the country.

“I have a few contacts in Hollywood,” Beryl remarked, placing two fingers on California. “I shall make inquiries.”

“Swell,” said Ruth. “I’ll reach out to this Wellesley grad Sharon mentioned. Sounds like she knows a thing or two, since she won the popular vote.”

“I’m off to China to visit my flight school,” Katherine said. “Perhaps we can help contain this North Korean threat.”  

“Elinor and I will go to the next Klan demonstration,” Bessie said with steel in her eyes.

“Yes!” said Elinor. “Just let them try and fight us!”

Elinor’s youth was feeding into her invulnerability. Sharon swallowed her fear; Elinor would follow Bessie's lead. 

“I’ll check the internet and get you coordinates,” Sharon agreed.

“Hélène and I are to Europe,” Maryse said.

“I’m with you two,” Amy chimed in. “I have a few thoughts about this ‘Brexit’ Affair.”

Amelia stood up, eyes bright with excitement. “Best get some rest first,” she said. “Sleep off the whiskey. I’ll help Sharon get the coordinates for us all.”

“What about you?” Elinor asked. “Where will you go?”

“Me? I should have thought that was obvious. I’m headed to our nation's capitol.”

She looked every inch the hero, Sharon had to admit. And if anyone could punch the Nazis there, it was her.

With laughter and with hope, the pilots headed off to crash in guest rooms. Amelia hung back.

“Abby?”

Sharon could hear the question in Amelia’s voice. She shook her head sadly.

“Two years ago. If she had known this was coming, though, I don’t think she would have ever died.”

Amelia stared into the embers of the fire. Sharon didn’t know what to do with herself. She settled for resting a hand on Amelia’s shoulder.

“She wanted this fight to be over with,” Sharon said sadly. “But she never trusted that it was. I hate that she was right, that you are getting pulled back in.”

Amelia rolled her shoulders and Sharon withdrew her hand.

“She was right not to trust the hatred to stay buried for long. There’s always humans who want to mess up a good thing.”

Amelia turned and met Sharon’s eyes. “I feel worse that you have to pick up where we left off. But we’ll keep fighting, for Abby, and for _your_ grandchildren.”

She grinned, suddenly cocky and full of fight again. “Family tradition, you know?” And yawning and stretching, Amelia went to find a place to sleep.

Dawn was breaking as Sharon crawled into her bed under the eaves of the house. For the first time in a long time, she felt full of hope. There was a plan, and Amelia was right. Fighting those damned Nazis was her legacy.

She’d do Grandma Abby proud.

  
_THIS CONCLUDES ANOTHER AERONAUTICAL ADVENTURE OF AMELIA EARHART, FEARLESS FLYER… AND FRIENDS! AND REMEMBER, AMERICA, BE LIKE THE SOARING SWEETHEART -- **FASCISM IS**_ **NEVER _THE AMERICAN WAY!_**

**Author's Note:**

> Notes on the aviatrixes: All are real. Amelia you know, but I just want to list some of the incredible accomplishments of the others. Some of these women were members of the Ninety Nines, an international organization for female aviatrixes, named for the 99 of 117 licensed female pilots that showed up for the first meeting in 1929. There are currently 5,230 members. 
> 
> Katherine Sui Fun Cheung was a total badass and friend of Amelia’s. She was a Chinese American woman who kept her name when married and opened a flight school for women in China. 
> 
> Beryl Markham was born in Britain and raised in Kenya. She was an adventurer, a racehorse trainer, and the first person to successfully fly the Atlantic from West to East (much harder than what Lindbergh did). Read about it in her memoir, West with the Night. 
> 
> Bessie Coleman was the first woman of African American and Native American descent to hold a pilot’s license and it’s a crime that there isn’t a movie about her yet. She had to do her training in France, and when she came back the US, she was a successful show pilot. She planned on opening a flight school for African Americans before her death in a plane crash while testing a new plane in 1926. 
> 
> Hélène Dutrieu was a Belgian aviator, cycling champion, stunt motorcyclist, racing car driver, stunt driver and World War I ambulance driver. She was nicknamed "The Human Arrow."
> 
> Elinor Smith, "The Flying Flapper of Freeport" was the youngest licensed pilot in the world at 16. She was primarily a stunt pilot and breaking all kinds of endurance, speed, and altitude records. 
> 
> Ruth Nichols (don’t call her “The Flying Debutante”) held separate world records for a woman pilot in speed, distance, and altitude. She took secret flying lessons while a student at Wellesley College. In 1930, she beat Charles Lindbergh’s time for a cross country flight. 
> 
> Amy Johnson CBE was a pioneering English aviatrix. Flying solo or with her husband, Jim Mollison, Johnson set numerous long-distance records during the 1930s. She was killed in bad weather while attempting to deliver an RAF aircraft for Air Transport Auxiliary in 1941.
> 
> Maryse Hilsz was a French aviator who gained a reputation for flights of endurance. Together with Amelia Earhart, in 1933 she was awarded joint "Woman of the Year" by the Fédération Aéronautique Internationale. During WWII she was a member of the French Resistance.
> 
> Those of you who know your aviatrix history will know I’m missing a lot of women, including the Soviet Night Witches. But given that this is a thinly veiled critique of the current administration, it didn’t feel great to include them. I love them, though. Nazi fighting Night Witches, more hardcore than anyone.
> 
> Screw Charles Lindbergh, honestly.


End file.
